


Bell Bottom Blues

by Anonymous



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Kitchen (2019)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drinking, M/M, anoned because I am extremely shy, brief mention of drug use, inadvisable investigation techniques, open-ended, prequel to the Kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Flip Zimmerman reaches a dead end during his investigation of a local protection racket. He follows barely more than a rumor to Gabriel, who comes on more strongly than Flip expects.A prequel toThe Kitchen.





	Bell Bottom Blues

**Author's Note:**

> I saw _The Kitchen_, then listened to _Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs_ on repeat for two days.
> 
> They trade one homophobic slur at the beginning, but that's the only appearance of homophobia in the fic. Other than that, the worst thing that happens is that Gabe leaves at the end to do _The Kitchen_. There is A Lot of angst, but this is also probably the softest fic I've written.

There. Flip stared across the dim bar, sipping from his whiskey and eying the tall, fair man in the loud patterned button-up who’d just entered at the other end. Three hours of waiting had paid off. He hoped his instinct was right. He hoped the night wasn’t a bust. The protection racket he’d been trying to pin down for six months had taken an ugly turn, and he had shit to show for it in terms of contacts or any real info. This lead was grasping at straws, but he had to try. He hadn't even bothered with a wire or backup.

Unfortunately, the other man caught his stare. Not ideal. He didn’t seem to recognize or react to Flip, but he held his eye just the same. Shit. Sometimes that made things harder. As Flip continued to stare and took the extra moment to alter his approach, he noticed the other man looked dead behind the eyes, his gaze flat and nearly lifeless.

Flip’s pulse increased slightly. This might be exactly who he was looking for. He raised his eyebrows, leaning one arm on the bar and inclining his head to the stool next to him.

The other man smiled, the expression not quite reaching those eyes of his. He ordered his drink, then walked slowly over and took the seat next to Flip.

“You know me?”

Flip turned, offering the other man his profile as he took another swallow from his drink. In close quarters, the other man smelled like blood, flat and metallic and unmistakable. Flip’s heart rate crept further up.

Yeah. He knew him.

“Name’s Pat. I heard you might be able to get work for me.”

“Pat.” The other man narrowed his eyes, but was interrupted by the arrival of his beer. He took a long swallow of it, long pale fingers wrapped around the dark glass of the Sam Adams bottle. When he finished, he seemed to consider the bottle, then turned back to Flip. “Do I look like an entrepreneur to you?”

Flip gave him a quick once over. “No. You look one step up from homeless.” This got a laugh, not forced. That was good. Not too dead behind the eyes to help Flip. “But I heard you might know someone who needs heavy work done.”

Flip needed an in with the racket, and he was the best undercover candidate, the one they’d be most likely to hire. If he looked a certain way - Cubs cap, unshaven, worn plaid shirt and jeans - they wouldn’t question his motives. He looked like he could handle himself, and anyone who crossed him.

“Yeah?” The other man asked, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “What’d you hear about me?”

Not much. He’d been seen with Jim Cooper on two occasions, and with Kevin Layman, the last presumed victim of the protection racket. Kevin had disappeared about two weeks back, his wife was the only one who missed him. Flip’s source hadn’t heard of this unnamed stranger at the bar before a month ago, when the disappearances started.

“I heard I f I waited here at Steven’s, there’d be a tall pretty boy who did odd jobs and knew some people.”

The man smirked. Again, it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but this time, seemed more genuine. “Aw. You think I’m pretty?”

Flip shrugged. “Closest I’ve seen tonight.”

The man, in turn, gave him a once over. “You a fag?”

Flip held his gaze steadily. “I look like a fag?”

Once again, the man didn’t react to Flip. Because Flip was, in fact, gay, he noticed that the man’s dead eyes were a fair shade of green, in addition to soulless.

After a moment, the other man smiled, leaning on the bar top with both arms, his eyes darting away to his drink. “I’m Gabriel.”

“You do odd jobs, Gabriel?”

“I do.” He looked back to Flip. “And I might know some heavy work for you, Pat. You know how to handle yourself?”

“I’m a vet.”

“No shit?” Gabriel looked more interested. The way he held himself, his walk, his stiff posture, the eyes - it gave him away. Not wearing any gear, so not too interested. Just a connection.

“Yeah. Marines. Magnificent Seventh.”

Gabriel’s brows went up, looking more interested yet. “Huh. You get up close?”

“You asking if I killed anyone? Saw them die?”

“Yeah.”

Flip held his gaze again. “Sure. Up close and personal. A job’s a job.” Not even a lie.

Gabriel smiled again, this time with a flash of crooked teeth. “Well, alright.” He drained his beer, held the empty bottle to the light for a moment, then stood, pushing his stringy red hair out of his face. “You know the Clinton place over on Wells street?”

Flip didn’t. He could find out easy enough though, so he shrugged. “Sure.”

“Well. I hear there’s a little get together over there tomorrow night. Why don’t you come, and see what happens?”

“You going to introduce me?”

Gabriel glanced toward the door, then looked Flip up and down again, more slowly and deliberately than Flip would have expected. An alarm went off in the back of his mind. He ignored it. Didn’t matter.

Gabriel bent down, leaning one arm on the bar, his hair drifting into his face and eyes. His eyebrows were red, his lashes pale and orange, and Flip hated that he noticed the freckles scattered across his cheeks, the most delicate feature on a man like Gabriel. A killer. “You’ll have to come and find out for yourself, Pat.”

With that, he turned and left. Flip leaned forward, nearly starting after him.

“What? You come all the way out here just for one drink?”

Gabriel raised a hand, not turning back around. “I got everything I came here for, sure.”

Flip watched his back disappear out into the night, then stared at Gabriel’s empty bottle.

Fucker. He’d given him almost nothing.

Flip spun the bottle, staring at the imprint of Gabriel’s lips on the neck.

* * *

Flip had to stake out the party to find out what it even was, and when it was. Wells street was in an older neighborhood, with cheap houses set far apart, each on their own little muddy, weed-choked yard. Good for privacy, but it told Flip nothing about what to expect inside. High end social? Frat party? Some trap he was walking into? After an hour of watching people enter, Flip decided that the worn jeans, brown boots, and tight yellow t-shirt he wore would do fine. He was hoping the shirt would fly - he looked like he could beat the shit out of someone, at least, and he wanted that to be the thing they knew about him.

No one noticed him enter. The front room had bare windows, torn red wallpaper, and no furniture aside from a dim yellow floor lamp. He grabbed a can of PBR from a cooler that sat atop a cinder block. Someone was blasting a Jan and fucking Dean record from somewhere in the house. People were congregating in groups of twos and threes, talking and laughing.

As he drifted through the crowded kitchen and into another dim room, he saw Gabriel, sitting with a tall, dark-haired woman that Flip recognized immediately as Cheryl, Chris Getty’s daughter. Chris was one of the wealthiest used car salesmen in town, and as far as Flip knew, completely unconnected to the protection racket. This raised even more fucking questions.

Gabriel and Cheryl were nestled deep in an overstuffed brown armchair, back facing the door. Gabriel was wearing the same thing he was at the bar - tight black pants, no belt, the white and yellow button-up that had seen better days. His hair was still unwashed. He still smelled like blood.

Gabriel leaned in close and whispered something in Cheryl’s ear, and she laughed. He saw Gabriel smile at her, put an arm around her shoulders.

Flip approached, thinking to ask Gabriel for an introduction. So far, he’d recognized no one else. Good for his cover, bad for an in. But something stopped him a few feet from the chair.

Once again, Gabriel caught him staring, looking up and locking eyes with him. This time, he winked, then began toying with a loose, dark curl near Cheryl’s ear. She giggled, swatting his hand away, but shifted her hips closer. Gabriel’s arm slipped lower, encircling her waist.

Flip stared a moment longer, took a drink from his beer, then walked back into the kitchen. He’d make his own introductions.

* * *

He met some vaguely pleasant and very ingratiating individuals at the party who seemed to understand what Flip wanted to do for them. It lead to some work, and was a solid lead, but he never witnessed anything remotely illegal. In fact, he was only being taken to places - churches, a coffee shop, a bookstore - where the proprietors were grateful to see him and Tim, the much older man that had been paired with Flip. He got nothing from wearing his wire, and saw no money changing hands. He was being tested, and knowing what businesses were in the rounds was useful, but he only got jobs from them a few times a week. After a month, he knew he needed something else.

Another disappearance, this time the owner of a small construction outfit, had him back in Gabriel’s bar the next night, frustrated and desperate.

And just like the last time, he waited hours before Gabriel swaggered through the door at nearly eleven at night. He had different clothes this time - tight-fitting gray corduroy pants and a dirty blue t-shirt that was unseasonable in the chilly September night. He still looked like he’d seen and done some shit. He spotted Flip almost immediately, and made his way over.

One of the things he’d done was shower. His hair was lighter, and he smelled like clean soap this time. He took a seat and casually leaned one arm on the bar. Flip nodded, then ordered him another Sam Adams.

Gabriel accepted it, keeping an eye on Flip while he took a long drink.

“Pat. We in the same line of work now?”

Flip made a show of scowling and looking away. He needed to appear frustrated, which was easy enough, and he wanted Gabriel to want to help him, or tell him something, _anything_, about the racket. “They taking you in the welcome wagon all over town, too?”

Gabriel laughed at that. “No, I didn’t get the tour.”

“Why not? You’re from out of town.”

Flip turned back to see the ghost of a smile on Gabriel’s lips. “Where’d you hear that?”

“You.” Flip inclined his head. “You sound like you got off the bus from New York yesterday.”

Gabriel grinned more fully, showing off his crooked white teeth. “Shit. That’s mean.”

Flip quickly turned away, affecting anger as he stared morosely out across the dim bar, then back at Gabriel. “What are you doing for them, anyway? Anything I can get in on?”

Gabriel shrugged, gesturing at himself. “Do I look like they send me out for a fight? Nah. My jobs are specialized.”

“And what’s that mean?”

Gabriel caught his gaze for a long moment, the smile leaving his face, before taking a long drink of his beer. “Meaning my shit’s different than yours.”

Flip sighed, then bunched his hand into a fist on the bar top. Getting him to talk would be difficult - his kind usually wouldn’t brag. But his evasion was still a little odd. Flip needed to loosen him up more, draw him out.

“I know it’s different, and I know there’s more going on. I’m sick of the new kid shit. I want a fight.” He spread his hand flat on the bar top again, then scowled at Gabriel. “Know what I mean?”

Gabriel turned back to his drink. “Sure, I know it. But if you’re looking for a fight from me, you’re looking in the wrong place. You’d break me over your knee.”

What the fuck did that mean? “Come on, I’m not picking a fight with you. But you’re in with them, can’t you talk to them? Tell them I’m past the beginner shit?”

Gabriel gave him another flat stare, the kind that looked dangerous. Flip couldn’t read him. “I don’t talk to them, they talk to me.” Suddenly, he smiled, looking Flip up and down again. “Besides, you? ‘Course they want to show you off all over town.”

Flip snorted. “Why? I’m sure they have other muscle.”

“Not as good-looking.”

Flip’s brows went up, and he leaned back, assessing Gabriel. Gabriel only continued to offer him a half smile.

Well, that was pretty transparent. And this was out of Flip’s fucking wheelhouse. He’d never had a male suspect _flirt_ with him before. He had ways to shut that down before it went any further. But coming from Gabriel, he was badly shaken. He took a long drink of his own beer to give himself time to respond, and remind himself that Gabriel was a murderer, though one with green eyes, A narrow chest, and nice hands.

Not to mention that the odds were better that he was fucking with Flip. No need to jump to conclusions. He calmed himself, licked his lips, then turned back to Gabriel. “You got a girlfriend, don’t you?”

“Cheryl?” Gabriel’s smile broadened. “Nah. She’s just my type.”

“What’s your type?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome. I like someone who can hold me down.”

Flip held Gabriel’s eye for several moments, but had to look away. He picked at the label of his beer bottle with a thumbnail. Gabriel was being more direct than anyone he’d ever met in his life. Flip’s script was going out the window, and he was having trouble keeping his mind on the results he needed.

When Flip stayed silent, Gabriel continued, encouraging him, leaning in closer and dropping his voice. “You want to use a little muscle, use it on me.”

Flip’s thoughts raced. He needed Gabriel, needed his trust and the information he had. What came next was a strange mix of desperation and anxiety, an attempt to stop this shit in its tracks. “What do I get out of it?”

Gabriel’s smile fell. “You gonna be like that?”

“You’re not?”

Gabriel toyed with his own bottle a moment, considering, then turned back, voice still light and reasonable, not at all bothered by Flip’s conditions.

“All right. I’ll tell you who’s next on my list. Maybe you go over there before I get around to it, see if you can’t help them learn reason before I have my turn.”

That was exactly what he needed. He hadn’t expected Gabriel to agree so easily. Flip drained the rest of his bottle, slamming it on the bar and turning to look at Gabriel.

Strictly speaking, sleeping with a source was a bad idea, but it happened. From time to time, you did what you had to. If you kept it strictly business, there were no problems. But most sources didn’t open negotiations by all but admitting to murder.

And no one had ever propositioned Flip so boldly before.

Well. He could do this. He’d have to have Ron take in Gabriel when the time came, which was fine. And it wasn’t as if Gabriel would ever say anything about this.

His certainty didn’t bring the calm it usually did, and Flip could feel his pulse hammering. He leaned in, close enough to speak low into Gabriel’s ear.

“You’d better suck a mean cock.”

Gabriel turned his head so his cheek brushed Flip’s lips before leaning back. He gave Flip a long, flat stare, then the small smile was back, not touching those flat green eyes of his.

“So I do.”

Gabriel finished his beer. Flip pulled a few bills out of his wallet, leaving them on the bar, and they left together.

* * *

They used a safe house that belonged to the department. It was currently empty, and Flip happened to have the key. All the undercover agents did, for just such an occasion.

As it happened, Gabriel did know how to suck cock, and was eager to get to it. He was fumbling at Flip’s belt almost before they were inside the door, and went to his knees even before Flip managed to turn on the lights. Flip grabbed his fingers, holding them still and noting clinically how cold they were.

That cold helped calm Flip down. He was doing this for the right reasons. So what if he let Gabriel suck his cock?

Flip took an extra moment to make sure his voice came out as even as he wanted. “Slow down. You want anything? Music? A drink?”

“What do I need fucking music for?” For the first time, Gabriel looked annoyed.

Flip held his palms between them, then turned, flipping the light on in the entryway of the tiny one-story bungalow.

“My mistake, I didn’t realize you just wanted a cock in your mouth. Go ahead.”

Flip knew who he was, had always known who he was. But he’d had very little experience. And he’d never had anyone like Gabriel. After a certain point, this point right here, this had nothing to do with the mission. Pride, then shock were all that stilled his tongue and kept him from stopping Gabriel as he sat back on the thick-piled gold carpet, undid Flip’s belt, and removed his embarrassingly hard cock. Flip couldn’t have said what his face looked like when Gabriel glanced up at him through the fringe of his hair, smirking, his cold fingers wrapped around Flip’s shaft. He knew his cool and impassive undercover facade was long gone.

“I was right, you’re big all over,” was all Gabriel said before winking and leaning forward, wrapping his lips around the head.

The sight of him - his messy red-blonde hair, his thin arms and bony shoulders, his pale freckled face - it was too much, along with his hot mouth and perfect tongue. Flip had to close his eyes, squeezing them tight as if it would bring an end to all this, like he could wake up in his bed and none of this would have happened. It shouldn’t have been so _good_, and Flip hated himself for it. He leaned against the wall and braced himself with one hand, wrapping the other around the back of Gabriel’s head, his fingers splayed in his hair.

With his eyes closed, there was just the feel of Gabriel’s lips, the suction of his mouth, that perfect pressure when his cock hit the back of Gabriel’s throat and Gabriel moaned, wrapping his other hand around Flip’s thigh. Flip clenched his jaw and hissed breath through his teeth, trying hard to keep himself contained, trying to think of something else, anything that would make this last longer, because he was about to humiliate himself.

There was nothing, and it was minutes before he moaned, deep and long, at the edge of orgasm. He tried to pull away, but Gabriel only tightened his grip on Flip’s thigh and followed with his mouth, squeezing with his lips in a way that pushed Flip straight over the edge. He spilled down Gabriel’s throat, realizing that this was more intimate than he’d ever allowed himself before, then immediately banishing the thought from his mind.

He hit the back of his head against the wall, hard, to come back to himself sooner, so he wasn’t in awe over a murderer’s blowjob for any longer than he had to be.

When he opened his eyes, Gabriel’s lips were wet, and he had his own eyes closed, a hand at his forehead to push away his hair. Flip watched him for several seconds before speaking.

“Well?”

Gabriel’s eyes opened, and another slow smile spread across his face. “Right. Tom Higgins. That’s the next job.”

Flip blinked. “What?”

“Yeah? You said I needed to give you a name.”

He had. But Flip sighed, laying a hand on Gabriel’s shoulders and pulling him to his feet. “I meant, do you want me to suck your cock, or what?”

Gabriel glanced around the room, then back at him. “This your place?”

Flip shrugged. “Not exactly. I use it.”

“You got a bed?”

Flip’s lips thinned. There was etiquette about using the bed in this house. Flip hadn’t been planning on using it. More, Flip really didn’t want to use it, to let himself go down that path with Gabriel. “Yeah, but-”

Gabriel put a hand up. “Nevermind. Take your shirt off and jerk me off.”

“What? Take my shirt off?”

Gabriel looked annoyed again. “You asked.”

“I asked if you wanted me to suck your cock.”

“’Or what’, is what you said. This is ‘or what.’”

Flip licked his lips. This was, again, more intimate than he would have liked. No one had ever asked to see him before. He told himself not to think about it. Slowly, he undid the buttons of the red and blue plaid shirt he was wearing, slipping it over his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. But when he tried to pull his undershirt from his waistband, Gabriel stopped him.

“That works.” Perfunctorily, Gabriel stood and undid the front of his own pants, grabbing his hard cock and stepping close to Flip.

Flip clenched his jaw and found himself unable to look Gabriel in the face. But he managed to steady his hand as he took Gabriel’s cock in his fingers, examining it for perhaps longer than he needed to. It was pretty - small, curved, flushed nearly purple. There was an untrimmed nest of ginger pubic hair at the root. Flip froze, still unable to believe this was happening to him, and that he could be enjoying it this much, that Gabriel _wanted_ him like this.

“I don’t have any lube,” he tried, when he was unable to begin after several seconds.

Gabriel took his hand, licked the palm, then, glancing at his face, spat into it and lowered it back to his cock.

Flip probably deserved that. It eased him, and this time, Gabriel’s cock disappeared in his fist and fingers as he began pumping it. He waited for direction, that he was squeezing too tight or going too fast. But Gabriel didn’t prompt him, instead placing his now-warm palms on Flip’s bare shoulders and leaning his forehead into Flip’s chest.

Flip couldn’t see what he was doing, but it hardly mattered. He put his other hand awkwardly around Gabriel’s waist, then listened to Gabriel moan aloud until he came. That, also, did not take long. Flip caught the mess in his hand, holding still as Gabriel clutched convulsively at his biceps, and his breath came in unapologetic moaning gasps.

“Like that?” Flip asked, before he could stop himself.

Gabriel’s head tilted up, his eyes still flat and cold, but another smile spread across his face.

“Good enough.”

Gabriel stepped back to put distance between them and tuck himself back into his pants. Flip held his fist clenched at his side, awkwardly wondering what to do with Gabriel’s come.

When Gabriel turned, obviously finished for the evening, his hand on the doorknob, Flip found himself picking his flannel shirt up off the floor and holding it out at arm’s length.

“Here.”

Gabriel turned, eyebrows up. “What, your shirt?”

Flip shrugged. “It’s October. You’re not even wearing a coat.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me.”

_I’m sure it doesn’t_, Flip thought. But before he could think of something else to say, Gabriel took the shirt from him, pulling it on over his dirty blue t-shirt, which was little better than an undershirt. It didn’t fit - it was baggy, hung off him, and the collar slid down his shoulder. Still, he turned, smiling and buttoning it up.

“Come find me, Pat.”

Flip watched him until the front door closed behind him. He watched the front door after that. He wiped his mouth with his clean hand, feeling fucking filthy in more ways than he liked.

Then, he washed his hands and called the station.

* * *

Two days later, Gabriel was leaning in a recessed entryway when Flip made his way out of a hardware store, still doing goodwill errands for the racket. He jumped when Gabriel’s hand clamped down hard on his forearm, but he managed a mild, unsurprised expression when he looked over at him. He was still wearing Flip’s red and blue plaid shirt.

Gabriel said nothing to him, instead turning to Flip’s taciturn chaperone. “Tim, gonna need some help this afternoon. You mind if I take this guy with me?”

Tim frowned, obviously not pleased by the interruption. “What do you need him for?”

Gabriel leaned forward, clenching his hand tighter around Flip’s arm, his expression going more cold and flat. “What do _you _need him for? Can’t handle yourself on the regular rounds?”

Tim gave Flip a long look, then simply turned and walked away. Flip wondered if he’d get the paltry twenty bucks they always gave him at the end of the day.

There were a few reasons for Gabriel to go to the trouble of finding him, but Flip was certain it wasn’t for anything good. His stomach tightened, and he got himself ready for a fight. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Gabriel sucking his cock again.

Gabriel pulled on Flip’s arm, expression still flat and hard.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

“No,” Flip said shortly. “You want to talk, we do it here.” He gestured to the street. No pedestrians other than Tim, but plenty of cars with witnesses inside them. He wasn’t stupid enough to let Gabriel drag him to a blind alley and shoot him.

“Why? You want Tim to know what I told you the other night about Tom Higgins? I’m sure he heard what happened with the police.”

Gabriel’s voice lacked inflection, and his expression gave nothing away. Flip yanked his arm back and began walking down the street, away from Gabriel. He could hear Gabriel’s steps behind him. It was colder now, the wind stinging his face as he walked. It helped keep him calm.

“I saw what happened. They came just before I went in. I was going to take care of it.”

“Before he went into police custody? For no reason?”

“Coincidence,” Flip answered. Tom Higgins had denied connections to the racket, of course, until they’d let on that they knew he owed them and was set to disappear. He’d cooperated quick enough after that, but had insisted on a whole dog-and-pony show to make it looked like he was being arrested and was safe. He had a lot to say, and had confirmed some things about the racket’s way of doing business, but he didn’t have any evidence, and he didn’t have any names that Flip didn’t already know. Gabriel hadn’t been one of the people he’d seen, and some part of Flip was relieved. He told himself it was because he could get more out of him.

But making a show out of police custody endangered his lead with Gabriel, and he’d been hoping Gabriel wouldn’t put it together. Of course he had. Now, he was back to square fucking one, and had gotten a blowjob from a murderer that could identify him. What was he supposed to do with that?

“Hey, slow down, no sweat,” Gabriel tried in a different tone, speeding up to walk alongside Flip, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Flip slowed, his heart hammering, his thoughts spinning. This was dangerous, but he could do nothing but play his part for the time being. “No sweat? You’re saying I’m a mole. That will get me killed. By you.”

“Not if we keep it between us.”

Flip stopped, turning to Gabriel, meeting his eyes again. His expression still gave nothing away. “And what? You stay quiet out of the goodness of your heart?”

“My heart? No. But we can come to some arrangement.”

Flip held eye contact for a long moment. He glanced out into the street again, then lowered his voice, leaning in closer, sounding outraged.

“You’re saying you’ll keep quiet if I blow you? What, indefinitely? Like my life depends on it?”

Gabriel cocked his head, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Nah.” He jerked his head in the general direction of the bungalow. “But let’s go back to your place and talk about it.” He put his hands out in surrender. “No worries. You know?”

Flip stared hard at him again, at the cold wind blowing his loose hair around his face, those green eyes and long fingers. His smile was less genuine than it had been. Flip sighed. Gabriel was probably carrying a gun. Gabriel would probably shoot him in the fucking heart, and he’d deserve it, but this wasn’t how any of it was supposed to go, and it threw Flip off enough to agree.

* * *

Flip pushed into the bungalow well ahead of Gabriel, walking through the entryway and into the living room, choosing to flip through the record collection rather than look at Gabriel or start this conversation.

Stocking the records in the bungalow had been contentious. None of the undercover detectives had the same taste in music. Flip hadn’t really cared, his only contribution had been _Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs_, because they’d made him pick one and it was his favorite. But he hadn’t planned on ever listening to it here. He wasn’t protection for the safe house, and he had known he’d never bring contacts or girlfriends here.

He pulled it from the bin and put the first LP in the player, hitting the power and lowering the needle. _I Looked Away_ began playing, too loud, and Flip turned it down. He still kept his back to Gabriel.

“I’m not an idiot, Pat. I know Tom Higgins didn’t just happen to get picked up by the cops.”

Flip sighed, then finally turned around to face Gabriel. But he still didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not an idiot,” Gabriel repeated.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Flip asked, trying for honesty and putting his hands out in a placating gesture. “You say anything, and I’m made. They’ll kill me. _You’ll_ kill me.”

“Nobody will kill you if I’m the only one who knows.”

“And we’re back to you blackmailing me for sex.”

Gabriel took a step closer, his expression softening. “I wasn’t thinking about blackmail. I don’t give a shit about them.”

Flip’s eyes widened. “What? Your friends?”

“Who said they were my friends? You’re the one that said I was new in town. I don’t know them.”

Flip’s lips thinned. The lack of loyalty wasn’t unexpected, but Flip had no idea where this was going. Every instinct he had told him to arrest Gabriel, to stop this, to not let him say whatever came next. He sensed they were about to cross a line that there wasn’t any coming back from.

Gabriel went on. “You got some deal with the cops? I don’t care. This is a shit operation. I’ll give you whatever I have, if that’s what you want.”

Flip shook his head. “Now you think I’m stupid. Why would you do that?”

Gabriel took another step forward, then another. His brows drew together. “You know why.”

Flip shook his head, his face flushing. He did know why. He knew exactly what Gabriel was telling him. He chose to ignore it. “I’m not giving you sex for blackmail.”

He could. Maybe he should, until the case ended. He could give Gabriel anything he wanted. The racket would flip on Gabriel as soon as they found out he’d done the same to them, and it would be clean.

But getting blown by a murderer on the regular was a bad idea.

Gabriel shook his head, looking annoyed again, and Flip realized he only ever looked annoyed when Flip wasn’t getting it. “Not for blackmail. I just want it. I want you.”

Gabriel held Flip’s stare. Flip knew well fucking enough what that was like, how hard this was. They were the same. And he’d even told Gabriel he was a vet, that he was a gangster. Gabriel probably thought they were the same empty monster inside, too. That Flip knew him. The horrible truth was, Flip did.

Flip wiped at his mouth, then left his hand there. Closed his eyes. Wished they’d met in that bar without Flip knowing anything about the case. Wished that Gabriel really was just a guy down on his luck, someone Flip could set up and take care of, without all the bodies in his past.

“One thing.” Gabriel’s hand closed over Flip’s and pulled it from his face. Flip’s eyes sprang open as he jumped. He hadn’t heard him get in close. The track on the record changed, slow and sad.

“I’m not an idiot, Pat. I haven’t lied to you. If you want something, ask for it. If you don’t want to give something, don’t. But don’t lie to me.”

Gabriel’s voice had been even, but low. Earnest. He was all but begging for this connection, for Flip not to use him. Flip shook his head again. He thought about Gabriel picking him up in the bar. How Gabriel had asked to see him without a shirt. How Gabriel hadn’t even fucking thought that Flip wanted to reciprocate after he’d blown him, had literally gone down on his knees for the privilege of helping Flip with his fake career in the racket. He could feel his hand sweating in Gabriel’s. He needed to get out of here.

“What do you want?” he asked instead.

Gabriel’s expression went wistful. “I keep thinking about you since I saw you in that bar, the first time. I just want you.”

Flip swallowed, hating this, not having a script for this, or experience, or-

“Why?”

Gabriel shook his head, then pulled Flip in to kiss him.

Flip had even less experience with that. His sexual experience was casual and furtive. He’d never had anyone who wanted to kiss him.

His protests died, he pulled Gabriel in tighter, and he had a moment of self-hatred before he forced himself not to think about it.

* * *

Flip stopped showing up for his shifts with the racket. Instead, Gabriel gave him names. Small shit at first, patrols that picked guys up for skipped bail on B&E charges, or jury duty violations. Guys that, if Gabriel was right, had done much worse, and were better off in jail for something, rather than walking free while Flip built a case.

He met Gabriel twice a week at the safe house. They were like two teenagers - kissing, palming each other through their fucking corduroys. Gabriel loved sucking his cock, but never wanted Flip to do it to him. Flip thought as little about it all as possible, except when it kept him up at night.

The night Flip started using his fingers to open Gabriel up, Gabriel gave him the names of all the businesses that were behind in their payments, and Flip had them staked out.

Gabriel liked being held down, and they progressed to Flip pushing him into the mattress while Gabriel rode his fingers.

“Fuck me,” Gabriel begged. “Fuck me, please, I want you inside me.”

Flip would not. Flip had never done that before. It was not a line Flip would cross with a source, with a witness, with a goddamn murder suspect. With Gabriel fucking O’Malley, who was asking for something else when he said it.

He told himself this, repeated it, as Gabriel’s requests became more frequent, more elaborate. As Gabriel got louder, more talkative, more honest and complimentary.

“Harder, Pat. No one does this like you do. You know how much I want this. Need you.”

Flip was forced to accept that there was no show or ulterior motive. It was hard to believe that someone like Gabriel could be so honest, so fucking _eager_. That anyone could want him like Gabriel did. Flip struggled to brush it off, to tell himself and Gabriel that it couldn’t be like that between them, that he would only go so far.

As winter approached and Flip never saw Gabriel in anything heavier than Flip’s plaid shirt, Flip gave him a coat.

It took Flip a long time to convince himself that Gabriel wasn’t using - he didn’t have obvious tracks, and Flip checked the secret places with his tongue to make sure. Gabriel enjoyed the numerous inspections between his toes, the attention Flip lavished on his fingers, and Flip felt like a shithead. Gabriel wasn’t exactly hygenic, but never smelled like weed (_only blood_). At worst, Flip thought he might occasionally use coke, but not regularly, and never in a way that made Flip certain. Flip had never seen him drunk, and had never even seen him smoke more than an occasional cigarette.

When he was sure, Flip started giving him money.

”What’s this for?”

”Buy yourself a new pair of pants, so you have more than one.”

Gabriel smiled, rolling the bills between his fingers as he leaned against the headboard, chest bare. ”All right. I like that.”

Flip knew what it might look like if this came out. That he’d paid Gabriel the murderer for sex. But it wasn’t like that, and he relaxed incrementally, released tension he hadn’t realized he’d carried, when Gabriel accepted the money for what it was with a small smile.

Flip asked, unable to resist. ”What do you do with all the money you make from working?”

It had always been _your work_. Flip had tried early on to narrow it down to _fixing_. Gabriel had avoided the label, and Flip hadn’t brought it up since.

”I send it east. All of it.”

Flip rolled onto his back, hands behind his head, staring at the dark ceiling. ”You got a family back east?”

It was open-ended. Gabriel’s folks. Gabriel’s wife and kids that he’d left, because he was a murdering shitbag, and a deadbeat husband and dad.

”Debts.” He shrugged.

”What does that matter to you? They gonna come all the way out here to collect?”

”Nah.” He glanced down at Flip, then leaned back on his hands, looking more frustrated. ”But I want to make sure I can go back someday, if I need to.”

”Why?” Flip shouldn’t ask. Flip knew he should stop talking. ”Got a sweetheart?”

To his surprise, Gabriel gave him a chagrined look. ”No, not exactly.”

Flip sat up, unable to help himself. ”You got a wife?”

Gabriel turned away, studying the opposite wall. ”Not my wife. Not my sweetheart.” He shrugged. ”I barely ever talked to her. She’s got a shit husband that beats her. So I don’t forget her, no.”

Flip frowned, relaxing again. ”You send her money? What’s that look like?”

”Nah. But I gotta make sure I can go back, if I have to, so I gotta pay my other debts. If I hear. You know. That her husband did something to her.” He stopped, shaking his head, balling his fists into the sheets.

Again, his expression was flat and blank. He didn’t look like he ever felt a particular way about the violence he was capable of. But Flip knew how deeply he felt. And what Gabriel had told him was true. Horribly, wretchedly true - he never lied. Not to Flip, whose name he didn’t even know.

There was a silence, and the record played in the next room, filling the house with _Little Wing_. Eventually, Gabriel shook his head again, tossing the bills that Flip had given him onto the floor with his clothes.

”Nevermind. I don’t hear much. And I like it here.” He rolled over onto Flip’s chest, propping himself up and looking down into Flip’s face. ”If I ever had to go east, I’d come back.”

Flip stared at him, frozen in the regard of his affection. Gabriel leaned forward, kissing him and running his fingers through Flip’s hair.

* * *

The next week, Gabriel didn’t show up on their usual night. It was the first time that happened. Flip stayed in the bungalow all night waiting for him. He told himself that Gabriel could take care of himself, that Gabriel was a murderer and was perfectly capable of killing anyone who threatened him, and maybe he’d leave evidence this time.

But all he could think of was Gabriel’s smile, and his clothes that were too light for winter in Colorado. The fact that he only ever showered at the safe house. The fact he wouldn’t tell Flip where he was sleeping, and it kept Flip up at night because it would snow soon.

_Pat_, he'd whisper. _Pat, please_.

They hadn’t been able to do anything with Gabriel’s information lately. Since Gabriel had begun informing, there had been no further disappearances, and only two violent incidents. Most of the gang had been picked up on petty charges. Others had left town. Gabriel had stopped hearing from the racket over a week ago, and they were waiting to see if and when things picked back up.

Maybe they’d found out what Gabriel had done. Flip pushed the thought away. Gabriel could take care of himself.

None of the members had flipped on Gabriel. They’d gotten no evidence to link him, or anyone else, with the disappearances. No one in the gang seemed to know who the fixer was, or was able to identify Gabriel from a photo, other than as a casual acquaintance.

But Flip didn’t need evidence. He knew a murderer when he saw one.

_Pat. Pat. Pat._

* * *

The night after Gabriel went missing, Flip woke to cold pressure at his temple and the sound of a gun being cocked.

He blinked awake to darkness, heart slamming in his chest, thoughts screaming. Casual. Play this off like it happened all the time. Don’t act scared.

There were a lot of people that might want to shoot him in his bed. He’d busted dozens over the years.

But when he turned and looked up the barrel of the Smith & Wesson, he wasn’t surprised to see Gabriel’s long fingers wrapped around the trigger, his face cast in shadow by the low light from the street coming through the window of the bedroom.

“Detective Phillip Zimmerman. Our boy Steve McGarrett.”

Flip couldn’t see Gabriel’s expression. He didn’t have to. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Gabriel, for a long time.

“You lied to me, _Flip_.”

Flip thought hard. He considered what would make Gabriel pull the trigger, and what wouldn’t. But Flip didn’t like the idea of gambling his life on a lie at the moment.

“Not after you told me not to.”

“You let me call you Pat for fucking months.”

“Yeah, I did.”

There was silence. The gun was still at Flip’s temple. He wasn’t sure there was anything else to say. Either Gabriel would kill him, or he wouldn’t.

“That’s it. You know it all now.”

“What do I know?” Gabriel’s voice rose, angry, which Flip had never heard before. He felt the gun shifting against his temple. “Are you even a vet? Have you killed anyone?”

“Yeah. I’ve shot people undercover before, too.” Flip clenched his jaw. It was cold in the room, and his nose hurt. It didn’t look like Gabriel was wearing a coat. “I grew up around here. I had a dog named Charlie when I was younger. I’d eat burned toast with orange marmalade for every meal if I could.” It was the only thing he’d ever made himself in the safe house with Gabriel.

Gabriel lowered the gun. “Fucker. I looked in your fridge.”

Flip sat up. “You broke into my house.”

Gabriel was looking around the room. Flip still couldn’t see his face. “Yeah. I broke into an officer’s house and didn’t kill him. I’m washed up.”

They were both silent for a long time. Then, abruptly, Gabriel threw his Smith & Wesson as hard as he could through the window. The glass shattered, and a frigid draft began blowing through the room.

“Fuck’s sake.” Flip put his face in his hands. When he looked up, he was still cold, and Gabriel was still looking out the window, and nothing had changed. “Gabe. It’s cold. Where’s your coat?”

“Don’t remember.” Gabriel turned back around. Flip leaned over and switched on the lamp beside his bed. Gabriel was wearing a long-sleeved button-up and pale blue bell bottoms that hugged his ass and thighs. They were brand new clothes, probably bought with the money Flip had given him several days ago. But he smelled strongly of blood, worse than it had been since that first night.

Gabriel’s expression wasn’t neutral this time, the mask he hid behind when he needed to be hard. He looked absolutely wretched. Horribly, it pulled at Flip’s heart in a way that he shouldn’t have allowed.

“Okay.” Flip ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “Okay,” he repeated, quieter this time. He pushed himself up, planted his feet on the bare floor of the bedroom. He was only wearing a pair of boxers. “Bathroom’s that way,” he said, waving vaguely. “Take a shower.”

Gabriel didn’t comment, only walked in the direction Flip had indicated. Flip waited for the bathroom door to close, then stood up and pulled on a pair of sweats. He got Gabriel’s gun from the back yard. When he returned to his bedroom to tape newspaper over the window, he was unsurprised to see Gabriel in his bed, narrow back to the door.

Flip joined him soon after, back in his boxers. Gabriel was wearing nothing. He rolled over, buried his face in Flip’s chest.

“I trusted you.”

Flip sighed, cupping the back of his head in a hand.

“I didn’t trust you. I told you that. I told you this couldn’t be what you wanted.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel’s voice was muffled in Flip’s chest.

They stayed like that a long time, Gabriel’s breath hot against Flip’s skin, his fists balled up under his chin, his back bowed, Flip’s arm around his shoulders and one hand on his head. They’d never slept together before. They’d laid together for hours in the house, talking and bullshitting and laughing. But Flip had always stopped them before this happened.

“I’m sorry, Flip.”

Flip didn’t say anything.

“I love you.”

Flip closed his eyes, and sighed. “I know.”

* * *

That morning, when he woke up with Gabriel in his arms, asking _fuck me, Flip,_ Flip did. He shouldn’t have. Gabriel was still an informant, and a murderer, and had broken into his house and held him at gunpoint and done who the fuck knew to get his name and address.

But Gabriel was so cold in his arms, and they were already in bed, and it was hard to say no when Gabriel was using his real name.

When Flip pushed himself inside, he clenched his eyes shut and stopped, Gabriel chanting his name mindlessly and half-gone on his fingers already. He’d imagined this, of course, fantasized about it. He’d decided long ago he’d never have it. It was a bad idea. Gabriel was a bad idea, and he’d have Ron arrest him as soon as the case was done.

But there was no evidence. And Gabriel was here. He was so tight, and his legs were up around Flip’s shoulders, his face and chest flushed. He was laid out naked and gasping, and there was so _little_ of him there.

“Gabe,” Flip said, voice broken, as he pushed the rest of the way inside, slowly.

Gabriel’s hands were around the back of his neck. His eyes opened, looking green and more alive than they ever had. His lashes were damp, and Flip hated himself for doing this to Gabriel.

“You should have done this sooner,” Gabriel whispered.

Flip made a sound, and it was neither a laugh nor a sob. He started thrusting after that.

* * *

Gabriel was a menace. If Flip had been worried that Gabriel was homeless, he wasn’t anymore, because he never left Flip’s house after he broke in. Flip still had to go to work, but when he came home, it was to Gabriel, who cleaned out his refrigerator and would watch reruns of _Love, American Style_ or listen to Flip’s Steppenwolf records.

Flip couldn’t do anything but join him. It wasn’t like it was any different than what he did at home by himself. Except now, Gabriel was in his lap by the end of the episode, and they were both in bed before _Happy Days_ came on.

After two weeks, Flip came home to an empty house. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. Part of him was disappointed. He was kicking himself for caring at all. He knew this would happen, that he would run out of tomorrows with Gabriel, one way or another. He watched TV by himself, numb.

Gabriel showed up three days later, dark circles under his eyes, hands shaking, frozen through, holding a bag of groceries.

_I love you, Flip_.

The racketeering case eventually went cold. Flip went back to the usual stuff. Dealing. Prostitution. Gabriel helped him with that. Gabriel always knew a guy.

_Please, Flip_.

Gabriel talked very little about himself. So did Flip. There wasn’t much to know about either of them. Gabriel liked baked chicken, and he always woke up at four in the morning, and he was somehow impervious to cold. He liked being kissed behind the ear and held down, he liked having Flip’s fingers around his throat, pressing into his carotid. He loved sucking dick, and he loved riding dick. He loved having Flip’s big hands all over him.

_I need you._

He’d disappear for days, and Flip knew it was in his nature. Flip would get him a job, if he thought Gabriel would show up to one, would stop hanging out with the ubiquitous _guy_ he knew, if it would erase every victim Gabriel had shot in the head.

Eventually, Flip gave him a key to his house.

_You know me_.

Flip didn’t ask where he went, or what he did. He only ever asked who he knew.

_I trust you._

Flip could trust him not to hurt himself, or Flip. But as the months passed and spring came, Flip found he couldn’t trust him any more than that. He just couldn’t.

Gabriel O’Malley was bad news.

_Do you love me, too?_

Flip never answered him. It never seemed to matter much to Gabriel.

* * *

He couldn’t help but stop and do a double-take when he saw Gabriel through the windows of a holding cell, handcuffed to the table. He had a black eye, no coat, and was soaking wet. The collar of his shirt was torn, his pale shoulder and chest standing out under the harsh lighting.

Flip's stomach tightened. _What had he done?_ Whatever it was, there was probably nothing that Flip could do for him.

Still, he felt sick. It had finally come to this. Here Gabriel was, in the cold fucking light of day, their long winter nights finally over.

He stared through the wire mesh glass, but Gabriel wasn’t looking up from the table. His partner Ron eventually approached, stopping to stand next to him. Flip gestured through the glass. He knew he looked calm, that Ron wouldn’t be able to read him. He’d learned to control his reactions a long time ago. You had to, doing what he did. Especially with Gabriel.

“You pick up my source?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “This guy’s one of yours? He was beating on Jim down at the Pizza King on Maple Street.”

“Jesus.” Flip turned back to the window. His first thought escaped unbidden. “He’s never actually been violent before.”

“Isn’t your current source a murderer or something?” Ron asked.

“No evidence,” Flip replied automatically, lips numb. He licked them, thinking of Gabriel.

“Well. Jim isn’t pressing charges.”

“My guy hurt him?” _Flip’s guy._ Right.

“Clocked him in the jaw, but that was it, I guess. Sara came out and knocked him across the back of the head, then called us.”

“And they aren’t pressing charges?”

“He’s free to go, unless you want to talk to him.”

Flip turned from the window. “Maybe,” he said reluctantly, hating himself. “I’ll see if it’s connected to that racket case.”

“I thought they all left town.”

“I thought so too.” Flip’s hand was on the doorknob. “And he wasn’t the one that gave the beatings. But I’ll ask.”

He pushed into the tiny room, letting the door lock behind him. Gabriel's eye was swollen shut. Jim had given him a fat lip too, and his knuckles were dark and bruised. He was picking at his cuticles, looking at his hands where they were cuffed to the table.

Flip let the chair scrape against the floor as he pulled it out and sat down in it. “They knocked you out?”

Gabriel’s head jerked up in surprise, and he met Flip’s gaze before looking down again. “I was distracted.”

“By what? Shitty pizza?” Flip knew Gabriel’s strong opinions about Pizza King.

Gabriel scowled without looking up. “It’s terrible. That’s what I told him.”

“And I told you to go to Uncle Mario’s.” Flip leaned back. “Was that all this is? You had a bad day and a shitty pizza?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“No one asked you to do this?”

Gabriel glanced up, expression neutral again, but his eyes were hard. “You think anyone’s sending me to beat up Jim Young? That cheap asshole?”

Flip made a derisive noise. “So why, then?”

Gabriel looked down again. “I called back east.”

Flip glanced at the window. Ron had left, and the hall outside was empty. Somehow, he couldn’t look away from that window. His chest was tight. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide them. “And?”

“Claire’s husband went to prison.”

Flip was silent. He still didn’t look at Gabriel.

Gabriel continued. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

That was different. Flip turned back to look at him. “You need money for the ticket?”

“No, I got that.” Gabriel looked up again, through the fringe of his messy bangs. “I want a reason to come back.”

Flip leaned in, alarmed, knowing exactly what Gabriel meant, and why he was upset. Their time was up, unless Flip said otherwise.

“We are _not_ doing this here.”

Gabriel held his angry gaze. They were silent. Once again, Flip let Gabriel be the one that broke it.

“We don’t have to do anything. I’ve told you how I feel. I only want you to tell me the truth before I go.”

Flip blinked rapidly. This was too fast, and he felt pinned by Gabriel’s stare. He _did not want to do this here_. It was happening anyway, in the fucking interrogation room, with Gabriel handcuffed to a table.

“You’re smart, Gabe. You see us, sitting here. And I never lied to you after that first time.”

Gabriel looked away. “No. You didn’t.” He stared at the blank white wall opposite the window, blinking rapidly himself. Horribly, a single tear slid down his cheek. “You never said anything.” He dipped his cheek against his shoulder, then turned back to Flip. His eyelashes were damp and spiky, even the eye that was swollen partially closed. The other was so green.

Flip Zimmerman, if nothing else, had a talent for doing what needed to be done. He always had.

“You’re right. I didn’t. Because I don’t have anything to say.” Though he knew that this could not continue, that this was as good a breaking point as any, he could not look at Gabriel when he said it.

“Leave. Go to Claire. You don’t need to come back.”

Gabriel lowered his face into his cuffed hands. His voice came out small and muffled, and it sounded almost like it did the night he first told Flip he loved him.

“I don’t want Claire. Not like I want you.”

Flip stood abruptly. He fumbled in his pocket, praying he had a set of keys on him. He did. He unfastened Gabriel from the table, then removed the cuffs. Gabriel let him. Flip wanted to kiss his torn knuckles, wanted to take him home and let him shower and change into clean clothes. It was still too cold out to go without a coat.

_Jesus. He had a whole closet full of clothes for Gabriel_.

That thought almost undid him. But he had to finish this, here and now.

“Gabriel O’Malley, you are not being charged with a crime, and you are free to go."

Gabriel’s face was still in his hands. He looked up, openly crying now, face red and nose running. It wasn’t like it should have been, a grown man crying so ugly like that. Something rose up to choke Flip, and he pushed it down with the iron hand he used when Taking Care Of Things.

“Please, Flip.” Gabriel's voice was very quiet. It cracked on his name. He was twisting his hands together. The expression on his face wasn’t neutral. Wasn’t lacking sincerity. Anyone walking by the room could see him. Flip wasn't supposed to care.

“I love you,” Gabriel whispered nearly silently, but Flip read the words well enough from his lips. He’d heard them many times before. “What if you came with me?”

Flip leaned in, bracing both hands on the table, and lowered his voice to ask the things he’d never wanted to know. “How many people did you kill in New York? Is the FBI looking for you? They gonna find you in my house, Gabe? Today? Next week? In five years, when we’ve both changed and pretended we forgot?”

Gabriel’s wretched expression slowly smoothed.

Flip saw the realization, the understanding. He kept going, because he was a bad person. He leaned in closer, and whispered it. “What if I said it, Gabe? What if I said I loved you too? Even if the FBI doesn’t get you, how long do you think you’re going to live? What am I going to do, knowing there’s nothing I can do to change that? To help you, and keep you?”

Gabriel turned away, dropping his hands in his lap. After a moment, he wiped his face dry, then stood. Dispassionately, Flip noted the tear stains on his shirt - a light cotton t-shirt that Flip had bought him, light green and white striped, a coffee stain on the right side. Ruined now, bearing his shoulder and collarbone.

Flip watched his back as he squared his shoulders and sauntered out of the interrogation room, the same as he had when he left that bar the first time they met.

Flip turned and faced the wall again, giving himself to a count of sixty to push everything down and leave. To not think about his empty house full of Gabriel’s things, his bed that smelled like him, the red hairs in his shower.

It hadn’t even been a year. Flip wasn’t surprised. He told himself this was for the best.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

* * *

  
”_If I ever had to go east, I’d come back_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: He comes back.


End file.
